You'll have to excuse Boohbah, Mxy. She's unaquainted with the subtle nuances of minimalist literature; subsisting on a mental diet of Neil Gaiman and Labyslash will do that to you.

Now this isn't to say that the story doesn't work as is - trust me when I say that the emotional effect of reading it is like a swift uppercut of joy to the chin - though I certainly wouldn't be averse to a lengthier sequel regarding the funeral. Who will be there? Who will weep? Who will spit on her grave? Who will dig up her corpse, gnaw on it like chew-toy, and rebury her under the pachysandra?

I smell Pulitzer.

From the womb to the tomb, presume the unpredictableGuns salute life rapidly, that's the ritual

But that didn't stop Strawman from buggering his rotting carcass first thing every afternoon when he woke up.

""Looking for love, not sex" -- the tagline of many a troll who doesn't believe they are worthy or capable of sex in its own right, but god, the thought of carrying that sort of middling self-esteem all the way to 36 is disturbing."